Short Story
From the twisted mind of Wade J. McMahan (author of "Bite This! A Richard Dick Mystery") comes another hilarious short story. Larry the hairy-legged Fairy gets called up on the carpet by the Queen's representative, Rupert the Low. A meeting of the two minds at a local Bug Bar, however, is about to change the situation. You'll never look at stories about Fairies the same way again!
Excerpt
It was growing late when Larry flew into the swirling nightlife at the Fairyland Bar and Grill. He glanced around the dim, neon-lighted room, and finally spotted Rupert seated alone at a table in the rear. Larry winged above the noisy patrons to join him.
“Sorry I’m late, Rupert,” he said as he reversed his wings, and descended into a chair. “The chick I was with wouldn’t take no for an answer, if you catch my drift.”
“Hmm, yes, I see, that’s quite all right,” Rupert replied, although clearly it wasn’t. One simply didn’t keep an official of the Fairyland Royal House waiting. He was sporting an immaculate royal purple tunic and deerskin leggings, a solid gold skullcap crested his dome. Rupert’s diminutive Fairy wings stood erect in an officious manner, his distaste for their surroundings evident, as he continued, “It was very kind of you to agree to meet with me on short notice, although I cannot say much for your choice of settings. Really, Larry…a ‘Bug Bar?’ You realize, I hope, that you and I are the only Fairies in this sordid place?”
Larry shrugged, “It’s not up to the standards of the Palace, but it’s all right. You ought’a be here for karaoke night. It’s quite a show. What’re you drinking?”
“Nectar, thank you.” Rupert prided himself on his impeccable manners.
“Nectar? You’ve gotta be shitting me. I didn’t know they even served that here.” Larry turned in his chair, and shouted over the din, “Hey Larry, a couple of beers over here!”
“Beer? Thank you, Larry, but I never touch alcohol.”
“Come on, a social drink won’t hurt will it?”
“Well, if I must, I must. Perhaps one beer.”
Larry promptly arrived with the two beers after weaving his way through the milling crowd. He hadn’t spilled a drop, a remarkable achievement when you stop to think about it. Crickets hop in a quite erratic manner, you know.
Larry was reaching for coins in his tunic pocket when Rupert stopped him, “Don’t bother yourself, this evenings’ expenses will be covered by the Royal House. Bartender, please make out an invoice and send it over to the Queen’s Palace, if you please.”
“Yeah? Who says so?” Larry growled.
“I do, I am the Queen’s representative, Rupert the Low.”
“Got any ID?”
“Let it go, Larry,” Larry interjected. “I’ll vouch for him.”
